


Parking Lot

by levendis



Series: Prompt Fics [75]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Choking, F/M, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6724186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levendis/pseuds/levendis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It arrives discreetly packaged. Plain brown cardboard box, a generic return address. And buried inside the packing fill: the enormous dragon dildo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parking Lot

**Author's Note:**

> for anon, who prompted: whouffaldi choking kink with pegging

It arrives discreetly packaged. Plain brown cardboard box, a generic return address. And buried inside the packing fill: the enormous dragon dildo.

Clara holds it aloft, like it’s a trophy she’s just won.

The Doctor is mostly distracted, reassembling her microwave. She stalks over dramatically, to where he’s kneeling on her kitchen floor, and taps him on either shoulder with the Ceremonial Dragon Cock. A queen appointing a knight.

He jams the microwave door back on, giving it a few whacks for good measure. “This is one of those things, yeah?”

“Uh huh.” Stroking his face with the thing, pushing his nose to the side. With her new gigantic dragon dong.

“Right. Uh. I’ll, uh. Let you know.” That scrunched-face expression, like _really? That? You wanna…with that? Come, now. I’d have thought you were at least a little less ridiculous than this._

  


_  
_

She’s not. Less ridiculous, that is. This is inherently funny, the absolute worst fake dick she could find on the internet, his self-serious and continually baffled approach to this. The thing that they do, sometimes.

“Do you wish you were a dragon?” he asks, toweling his hair dry. Cleanliness is important in this sort of situation, and she’d made sure that he was. Very thoroughly.

“Nah. Just wanna see how much you can take.” She follows him into the bedroom, or - really - the fuck room, and she doesn’t need to know how the TARDIS feels about carrying this place around, so no comments from the peanut gallery, please.

He rolls his shoulders, shucks the towel off. The brief, odd moment where he decides, deliberately, not to be The Doctor anymore. Just a fragile, willing body. And he goes down, the usual position. All-fours on the mattress, leaning on his elbows, ready and presented.

“There’s also eggs. Like not actual eggs, but egg-shaped things, that this can. Put in you.” She adjusts, again, the dragon dildo in her harness. Wonders if maybe it couldn’t do with some reinforcement. A few inches of duct tape, maybe.

“We can talk about that later. One thing at a time, yeah?” He’s laughing, though trying to hide it. Eggs, really? Are you serious?

She’s laughing too, but steadying herself. Lip bit. Very serious, now. She puts a hand on his back - his muscles flexing, shoulder blades raised. Spine, thin skin. Blood rushing as she trails her hand down, down.

The miracle of genetic engineering, it doesn’t take much to open him up. A few probing fingers, lube-slick, pressing against and then into him. They’ve done this before, he knows how to move, how to relax. Ish. They’ve never done this with a massive fantasy-dragon cock from www.fantasydragoncocks.com. This, this is a lot to take in.

So she goes slow. Just the tip, at first. Getting him acclimated. Her hands on his shoulders, neck. Reveling in the contradiction, this all-powerful being in his delicate, narrow frame. The over-educated, multi-lingual man spitting out animal noises. The legend, reduced to a shaking, needy pile of flesh and bone.

And Clara Oswald, with her dragon dildo, holding him down. This half-god shuddering below her, brought low, gasping. He’s vulnerable, so beautifully vulnerable. She could kill him if she wanted. Not that she does, but she could. Her hands sliding up and circling his neck; the absurdly large dragon wang splitting him apart, each thrust of her hips breaking him down further.

The mewling, shaking thing that she makes him become. Skin and bone and sweat. Her hands on his neck, fingers tightening. She could kill him now, if she wanted. Or at least force a regeneration. Not that she wants to, but it’s a thought, isn’t it. An edge they both approach willingly. Staying just this side of letting go, wrecking havoc. The potential for destruction. Her fingers tightening, his motions going erratic.

He comes before she does. Nearly blacked-out, or that place he goes to, whatever it is. The release of his physical form. Wrecked and limp below her. Bruises, rapidly healing. The imprint of her fingertips on his pale skin.

She pulls back, breathes deep. Touches herself while staring down at this mess that she’s made. Feeling like she’s won, somehow, this battle that they are. That she’d like them to be, because that’d make all this easier to handle. His glassy stare, as he turns around. Hips shifting to fit between her thighs. She holds his gaze as she grinds her fingers down on her clit, coaxing out her release.

“If you are,” he says loosely. After she’s slumped down next to him. “If you are interested in being a dragon.”

“I’m not.”

“I wouldn’t judge, though. I used to want to be a fish.”

“Honestly, it was mostly a joke. The dragon dildo.”

“But if you are. You know. Be what you are.” Sleepy, eyes drifting shut. One of the few occasions where he could be coaxed into a nap.

“I’m just me,” she says. Rubbing the last bits of tension out of his back. “With a comedic sex toy. But thanks.” She pushes him over onto the wet spot - gently, not unkindly, but definitely pragmatically - and then settles in, her arms wrapped around him.


End file.
